


After the Fall

by Marie_L



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels, Community: apocalyptothon, Fallen Angels, Fallen Castiel, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Human Castiel, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2128767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_L/pseuds/Marie_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the angels, losing Heaven was their own sort of apocalypse. For Castiel, losing his grace was a chance at redemption in the eyes of at least one young human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyoneill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/gifts).



> I'm bringing back Anna and mentions of a few other angels because ... well, because I can. 5.13 never happened.

 Just before Castiel fell, his last act was to shove Jimmy Novak out into heaven. Without his grace Castiel was just another soul in the body, two souls inhabiting one space. The human's lifeforce, exhausted beyond mortal comprehension, cried out for release, and with one last conscious push Castiel flung him back through the celestial gates as they slammed shut. Jimmy's burden, eased at last.

  
The thought comforted him a little as he fell. Already he was a little more human. But then he saw the pinprick lights unnaturally streaming outside the gates, right behind him. Everyone else was falling too.

Despite his loss of grace Castiel was still connected to angel radio, as Dean so bluntly called their sublime communication. The screams were worse than the actual fall, the terror and agony of ten thousand beings with their wings burning off reverberating across Earth's atmosphere and magnifying as they approached impact. The stronger classes of angels managed to alter their trajectories early on so at least they were above a continent, but the lower ranks fell at random, with massive losses over the oceans. Most of them had never been to Earth before, and simply accepted their new watery graves as a sort of purgatory. They clustered in the deep muck as matterless spirits, clinging together for comfort, waiting as always for orders that may never come. Waiting was their prayer, their consolation, their salvation.

On land, chaos reigned. Only a tiny number of angels knew of their appropriate vessels. Only a few actually _had_ human lineages with living optimized vessels. Most angels were never intended by God to actually go to Earth, so there was no need to predestine vessels for them all. Angels required possession to interact with the world in any significant manner, but were weak and vulnerable in that form. Even a filthy demon, those vilely corrupted human souls, could kill an angel in a vessel with the correct tool. Hundreds opted to go the safer route, forgo this human business altogether and remain as beings of energy, force and will. Like the lower angels under the oceans, they came together in small defensive formations and headed into the wilderness to avoid bringing the fragile creatures of the Earth to harm. The deserts were popular. Angels tell very few stories, but even they had heard of Avraham, Moses, Maryam, Yeshua, Muhammed.

The remaining contingent -- including virtually all of the upper echelons of angels -- attempted to possess humans. They were in the domain of men now, cast out of an existence of wonderment and stasis into a world of verdant, fetid life and death. The message from above was clear: _Learn to live to purify yourselves._ To obey was to learn how not to reflexively obey. Metatron's machinations were merely the instrument to mete out God's punishment, and the angels' Flood had finally arrived.

Castiel lay in the leaf litter in a cool forest somewhere in that land mass known as North America, staring at the sky that so recently contained his falling comrades, and listened to their confused screams, platitudes and pleas. In some human languages the words _sky_ and _heavens_ are the same, but that is a lie, he mused. Heaven was closed, empty and dead while most of its grace bled out and only the diminishing reflections of billions of human souls remained. But the sky looked the same.

He lay there for a day or more, listening to the new stories generated across the globe.

In Jerusalem, the dawn prayers of the two major extant faiths attracted dozens of angels to the Old City, a location drenched in piety and blood both backwards and forwards in time. Imperfect vessels were found almost immediately. Riots nearly ensued when angels in the bodies of Hasidic Jews, clueless of the cultural norms of one of the most contested spots on the planet Earth, attempted to climb up the stairs of the Gate of the Bath to meet their superficially Arab brethren on the Temple Mount. Israeli officials were even more confused when peace suddenly broke out among the quarreling factions of Christianity that uneasily control the Church of Holy Sepulchre. A brigade of Balthazar loyalists seized power over the site, commandeering every priest and monk in residence. Tourists bowed down in a frenzy of joy as the Greek Orthodox, Armenians, Ethiopians, Roman Catholics, Syriacs and Copts all embraced each other as brothers in the spirit of _agape._ The bodies of those unworthy to hold angels were quietly entombed with the crumbling bones of saints in the basement.

In Pyongyang, a regiment of ophanim, who never before in their shimmering existence left the side of the Throne of Glory, had the misfortune to fall in the dominion of the demons. The beast known through history by many names -- Asmodeus, Aesma, Ashmodai -- had ruled over the region for several human generations, bringing his own personal version of Hell to the surface of the Earth. The ophanim managed to get vessels by tapping into the last sparks of shamanism left in some older humans, but were immediately rooted out by their immortal enemies, then executed after torture revealed they knew nothing of the state of heaven or God. Where a slain angel's grace or soul-breath went after apparent death was one of the universe's enduring mysteries. For the spirits of other creatures of God's -- the humans, the monsters -- could be created but did not ever die, so it seemed unlikely that beings as majestic as the abiding angels would simply whiff out and _end._ That would be too much of a mercy, Castiel mused. He doubted it was true.

In Delhi, the seraph Raguel entered the dreams of an entire neighborhood in the image of the deva Agni, deity of fire and sacrifice. A massive crowd gathered in the streets at daybreak in wonder at the shared vision. Raguel revealed his true form to the people, blinding hundreds and immediately sparking a new ecstatic cult in Raguel's name.

In Moscow, Naomi and her minions were provided with suitable vessels by the local dictator, who was completely nonreligious but knew power when he saw it. Naomi immediately went to work gathering intelligence on both the angels and humans within that land. For even on this Hell known as Earth, Naomi believed the angels required guidance and punishment for their aberrant behavior. Perhaps more so.

In Pontiac, Illinois three hashmalim touched down amidst a lighting storm, knowledge of the Book of Vessels on their brows. They immediately began a campaign of intimidation and insanity on the adolescent Claire Novak, one of the only a handful of unclaimed seraph-level vessels currently embodied on the Earth. Castiel noted this turn of events with muted sorrow. She was praying to him for help -- correctly to Castiel, not her father -- which he could hear but do nothing about. The mother had been killed by the hashmalim in an attempt to take away everything she had that was worth living for. The girl had nothing.

He knew the human thing to do would be to get up and, well, do _something_ to save the child of the person that made Castiel's continued life possible. That's what Dean would do if he were here. Of course if the doors to heaven remained shut, she would likely be haunted by angels for the rest of her days, forced to say 'no' over and over again like the Winchesters. She needed the Enochian sigils on her ribs to avoid detection, and Castiel no longer had the means to burn them onto her.

But he knew someone who did. And she likely wouldn't stab him on sight, so that was a plus.

Castiel made the decision then, to try and help save Claire, as his very first act as a human. He stood up off the forest floor where he had lain prone for the day, wiping the dirt and pine needles off his damp and cold body. Since he was no longer an angel, he had to employ human means to get a hold of another angel. He closed his eyes and prayed, another first, his only prayer to a being other than God.

"Anael, I need your help. Please, I beseech you to show yourself to me."

Nothing happened. Castiel sighed and began to walk in the woods, hoping to find a road or town. His body was already in need of water and food energy, which he only vaguely knew how to provide. He had no money, but based on his recent excursions to Biggerson's he knew a vast amount of food was wasted and dumped outside establishments across the country. He continued to pray here and there periodically, with increasingly despondent levels of pleas.

"Seriously, Cas? You couldn't make it as a human for 24 hours without going into puppy dog begging mode?" He turned, and Anna was behind him. "I'm kind of busy, you know. You're not the only one to remember that I have personal experience as a human. And still have my wings, so angel taxi service. _Now_ I'm popular."

Castiel responded slowly, as if even his tongue were tired. "It's the child of this vessel. Some of the angels are harassing her, and I wish to help."

"Well, isn't that noble of you? You mean, you want _me_ to help her." She paused with a crook of her head, looking deeper into him. "Your vessel's soul isn't even in your body any more. I guess you really are human. What's prompting this burst of benevolence, Cas?"

"I ... made a promise to take care his family. And now, because of us, both of her parents are dead. I feel ... as a human ... I owe it to her."

Anna rolled her eyes. "Dean's fanatic sense of loyalty and martyrdom syndrome are rubbing off on you, I see. You don't even know how to brush your teeth, but you're bent on saving the girl." He just stared at her, trying to comprehend what his teeth had to do with the conversation, and she sighed. "Fine. I'll give you ten minutes of time, but after that you're on your own with the kid. You look exactly like her father, Castiel. She's gonna get attached."

"I ... understand."

"I don't think you do." And with that, she touched his shoulder and whisked them to Claire's bedside.

She was being held on a psych hold at a local hospital, a beautiful fifteen-year-old restrained and drugged. Claire has been hauled in after hysterically claiming the fallen angels killed her mother, and were screaming in her head to give up her body, just like her father. The police suspected her in her mother's murder. Castiel didn't know any of this directly of course; Anna read it all off her addled mind. Hard for the former fallen angel not to sympathize, for Anna knew all about thinking you were insane for the Enochian voices in your mind. The hashmalim, angels from a soldierly rank just below Anael and Castiel in the now-imploded heavenly hierarchy, were holed up nearby in the basement, but were still sending her continuous messages to submit. They hadn't detected Anna's presence yet, but it wouldn't be long once Claire woke up.

Anna first burned the sigals right through her chest, while the girl was still unconscious. The agony cut through the meds and Claire woke up shrieking at this new angel-induced injustice. Then the girl saw Castiel.

"Daddy?" she asked softly, her eyes glassy with pain. Then she remembered. "Castiel. You came."

"Yes. We will make them stop. You have sigils in your body now so the angels can no longer follow you." He unbuckled her restraints and helped her up. Anna stepped up and gently touched his shoulder.

"Ten minutes are up, Cas, and those annoying fuckers smell blood. Where can I drop you?"

"Dean and Sam."

"Naturally. Who else would take you, O' Herald of Death? Fair warning, though, Dean's a little pissed at you." Anna spirited the three of them away, just as the disembodied angels began to incinerate the door.

 

******

 

Castiel was surprised she already knew where to go: The warded entrance to the Bunker, in Lebanon, Kansas. Claire wobbled on her feet, disoriented, as and as one last gesture Anna healed her, cleaning her blood of sedatives and intoxicants and taking away her pain. She draped herself on Castiel, exhausted, in need of comfort, and he managed to pat her back comfortingly.

"How did you know ...?" He pointed at the hidden Bunker door.

"Didn't you hear Dean praying nonstop for help right after the Fall? When you failed to magically rescue his ass, he had to switch to backup."

"I vaguely remember. There was so much to hear at that moment."

"Yeah. Be careful with angel radio now that you're human, Cas. The voices can drive you nuts now too."

He nodded, although the thought of voluntarily cutting himself off from the last contact with his people filled him with dread. "And Sam? I take it he failed to complete his trials."

"Still alive, but barely. I did the best I could. Human medicine wouldn't do jack squat for him, so I took them back here. So he can finish out his few remaining days in peace."

Castiel nodded again, unsure how to feel about that. He had known Sam was doomed for months, although Dean as usual was in denial, a Winchester specialty. The state of Sam's body and even his soul were not repairable.

Anna's attention drifted off for a second, listening to a private message. Then she addressed Claire, now able to stand on her own, cupping the teenager's sallow pretty face. "All right, little one. I wouldn't go back to Pontiac for awhile. Lay low with Castiel, the angels won't find or recognize you. And always remember, no matter what, you can always say no. Live your life on your terms." She took flight then, leaving the two of them alone.

They stood there for a few moments without moving or saying anything, just appraising the other. Castiel knew they should go in the Bunker, but then there would be questions, and Dean's distress over Sam, and so many human emotions he hardly had a grasp of. It seemed appropriate for them to be alone for a short time, to allow _her_ questions to flow.

After an interminable pause, she did ask. "She said you were human now. What does that mean?"

"My grace was stolen as the last step in the spell to expel all the angels form heaven. I am ... partially responsible for everyone's Fall. What little connection I have with Heaven will now fade."

"So the angels are after you too? They hate you now?"

"Yes. I have caused unimaginable amounts of death and destruction. I do not know if Heaven itself will survive without the angels to maintain it."

Claire crossed her arms. "Good. I hate you too. Can I talk to my Dad for a minute?"

"He is no longer in this vessel. I pushed him out into Heaven just before the gates closed."

She staggered then, gasping. "He's _dead_ now? Really dead? You fucking _stole_ his body?" The girl launched herself at him, to impotently attack him. He grabbed her arms, to hold her back and prevent her from harming anyone, including herself.

"Stop. I know you are grieving for both of your parents, but _listen._ Jimmy's spirit was exhausted. I dragged him all over Earth, and Heaven, and Purgatory. He was there when I was filled with Leviathans, and there when I went to war with my compatriots and killed my friends. His only remaining wishes were to rest, and to see you safe. Can you respect that?"

Claire jerked out of his grasp, her expression truly one of hate now. "It's your fault they're dead. Both of them," she hissed at him.

"I know."

The door to the Bunker suddenly swung open from its seamless hiding place, and Kevin Tran poked his head out. "Uh, Cas? What's going on? Wanna come in and introduce your friend?"

"I'm not his friend," Claire spit out. "I'm just the daughter of the _tool_ he uses to get around the Earth, and now claims all for himself."

"Right. The vessel's kid. Which makes you a vessel too. I bet you're a hot commodity on the burgeoning angel market right now." At her murderous expression, Kevin held up his hands. "Hey, I know it sucks, believe me. I know all about being one of Heaven's _tools._ But we should get in here before any of them somehow find you out there. Have lunch. Compare notes. Chill out a bit."

She reluctantly marched inside, and Castiel followed in silence. His stomach growled, a strange sensation. Lunch did sound nice.

As it turned out, Dean _was_ pissed at him for not responding to his prayers, although he was mollified a bit after hearing that Castiel had not only lost his wings, but his grace and most associated angel powers. Mostly, of course, Dean was inconsolable about Sam. He hardly registered Claire's existence.

"There must be something you can do, Cas. Even if you can't do it yourself, you know something, or know someone. Please, I'm begging you, man."

"I'm sorry, Dean. But almost every angel I know wants me dead, and they are too tied up in their own difficulties to save one human. More than half the angels died in the Fall or are waiting in stasis, without bodies. Hundreds of humans have been killed in erroneous attempts to get vessels. Thousands more will die as the angels burn their bodies out. Why should any of them care about one more damaged soul?"

" _I_ care, dammit," hissed Dean. "And I'll find a way, just like we always do." He stomped off to the library to consult with Kevin, almost ramming into Claire walking into Sam's room with a sandwich.

"You really are a cold bastard, you know that?" she said, and sat with a quiet huff by Sam's bedside. With her turkey club in one hand, she softly stroked Sam's inert fingers with the other. Castiel watched her with confusion.

"Why do you try to comfort him? He cannot feel it, and you barely know him."

"Number one, you alien Vulcan, he helped me and my mom when we needed it. Number two, you don't fucking know that for sure. You're not some omnipotent being any more. Number three, it's the human thing to do. Everyone deserves comfort as they die."

"Vulcan?"

"Never mind. Go eat something, Castiel. Or better yet, a shower. You need to learn to eat and sleep and wash up like the rest of us sticky mortals."

"Claire?"

" _What?"_

"We were never omnipotent."

"Go away, Castiel." He bowed his head and complied.

 

******

 

It was an awkward and smelly affair, learning how to have a body. Although showers did help, Castiel had to admit. One of the great inventions of human civilization, indoor plumbing. As he stood there allowing the hot water to bombard his back, though, the desperation off angel radio assaulted his mind. Since everyone could hear a general message, it was currently being used for tips and trades. Or sometimes murderous fake-outs.

_Joshua's in the Tibesti in the Sahara. Come join us._

_Found a whole family of hashmal-level vessels in Utah. Mormons._ _They *l_ _ove_ _*_ _the angels._

 _We can't go to the Tibesti without_ _authorization_ _. Has anyone heard from Marmoniel or Y_ _a_ _akov?_

_Joshua's NOT in the Tibesti. Jophial's territory, DO NOT ENTER._

_Naomi's handing out vessels in Russia. For a price._

_When was the last time God gave any orders? How long have you seraphim been lying about God's orders?_

_Who's Naomi?_

_This vessel won't last a_ _n Earth_ _week. What is the point of going on?_

It was a scramble for bare survival out there. What _was_ the point? God had abandoned them, just as he had abandoned the Purgatory-level monsters and the demigods and the humans. The Earth was now an unthinking machine, devoid of holiness, and truthfully the angels were no better than the monsters now, subsisting off the human population like parasites. Just like Adam and Eve in the garden, they all were naked and Fallen, with no idea how to live with free will.

Castiel figured out how to towel off his dripping body and put back on his clothes. They were filthy now, and he had no idea how to launder them or acquire extra ones. Perhaps he could ask the prophet, although he seemed to have personal sanitation issues of his own. Perhaps Claire, if she hated him less this evening.

He wandered back out to the main room, the library. The prophet was attempting to transcribe the Angel Tablet for more information about Sam's trials, or reopening Heaven. Dean was excoriating the Demon King in the torture chamber for information. Claire was fiddling with an old electronic entertainment box, trying to make it operational.

"You're never going to make that thing work in here, Claire," Kevin said, looking up with dazed eyes from the tablet. "This place is like a fortress, with shit-all for reception. And it's not like we're springing for cable."

"You've got a world-wide alert system for supernatural events in here. I think I can get in some measly American Idol." She had some kind of wire contraption set on top of the telescope aperture, and was running it down to the exposed back of the ancient vacuum-tube television set.

"You know how to repair electronic devices?" Castiel asked, trying to engage her in conversation. A human interpersonal trait, chit-chat.

"This is more Jerry-rigging than repair, but yeah. I do like to take things apart and put them back together again. These old antiques are especially fun. All the parts are so _big_ , and nice n' old-school indestructible."

"Is this considered a typical hobby for fifteen-old-girls?" Claire's eyes narrowed at that.

"Are you saying a girl shouldn't worry her little head over all this complicated _engineering_ stuff? Fuck off, Castiel." Across the room, Kevin chuckled. Castiel, as usual, did not get either the humor or the rebuke. Was she angry with him?

"Your personality is not the same as when we last met."

"Big difference between ten and fifteen. I was a little kid when you last saw me, and that's probably how Daddy remembers me too. I'm in high school now, I'm allowed to say 'fuck'."

Kevin collapsed in laughter at the exchange, putting his head down on the tablet. "It's really too bad you're never going to meet Sam, chica. He would have liked you. You could have commiserated over the magical mainframe together."

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that too. I should relieve Dean for watching over him. He needs to eat."

Castiel followed her into Sam's room, this time refusing to be deterred. "I thought you didn't believe in all this mushy human superstition," she sneered at him as he sat across from Sam's comatose form.

"I want to learn. I'm human now, and who else is going to teach me?"

"You sure about that? There's no spell somewhere to get your grace back?"

"No. It has been ... consumed. I could steal another angel's grace, but I'd rather not."

"Because you don't want to kill your own kind?"

"I've killed many angels in battle. I'm responsible for killing many more in the Fall. But deliberately killing one just to take their grace would be ... wrong. Murder."

"I guess it's good to have standards," she said sarcastically. They sat in silence, each holding one of Sam's hands. The meditational pause distracted Castiel back to angel radio.

_Joshua's in the Serengeti._

_Children are very open to the angels. And it's nice to have a parent again. No more thinking for yourself._

_Bartholomew's got some television scheme going in North America. Potentially many vessels._

_I'm releasing this_ _body_ _and going into Death Valley. Come with me, leave the humans to their own_ _lives_ _and own free will._

_It's what God wants us to do._

After a long pause, Claire fidgeted in her seat and asked the question that was really on her mind. "Castiel? Why did you release my Dad and keep the body for yourself? Why didn't _you_ stay in Heaven and release him to me?"

"I did not consider it. Without my grace or a vessel, I would be nothing more than a matterless spirit, just like the ghosts that Dean hunts. Plus, as I said ... Jimmy wanted to die. Or at least rest in Heaven in peace."

"Are they together in Heaven? Will I see them again?"

"They are together if they both want to be together. Sometimes personal Heavens are shared. And you may see them again, but hopefully only after a very long life. That's what your father would have wanted."

"Right. Well, he didn't want me to be a vessel, that's for sure. Will the angels be chasing my children, and my grandchildren?"

"Yes."

"We need to get you all back into Heaven."

"That would be preferable. Although I won't be going back, except through the human gates."

"We'll see. Seems like your fate would be something less ordinary, Castiel."

 

******

 

She taught him how to cook on the second day. At least, how to cook a couple of things. Eggs, cookies, soup.

"The trick is to determine what you like to eat, then make the effort to figure out how to make that thing. So: French toast. Delicious, easy. Egg, milk, some spices, soak the bread, saute, drown in maple syrup. Yum."

"How do I know what is 'yum' to begin with?"

"Gotta just try different things. Haven't you ever _tasted_ anything, in all your years popping on and off Earth?"

"I'm aware of the chemical composition of food, yes."

"That's _so_ not an answer."

"All right, tasting as a human is a novel experience. I don't know how to have ... preferences."

She rummaged through the fridge and came out with a jar of pickles, then dribbled some chocolate syrup all over a spear. "Here. Try this."

Castiel considered the concoction with skepticism, then took a bite. After several slow seconds of chewing, he finally pronounced, "I think I don't like this."

"There you go. A preference."

"What did Jimmy prefer?"

Claire shoved the jars back in the fridge and slammed the door before turning to glare at him. "You don't have a right yet to ask that. I still hate you, just so you know. But he did like French toast." She stomped off again, leaving him in the kitchen to try and follow her directions, one imperfect move at a time.

 

******

 

On the third evening Castiel fell asleep and experienced that strange state of consciousness known as dreaming for the first time. Unfortunately he also discovered a major flaw in his newly human status: His mind could now be located by the other angels while he was sleeping. Gabriel found him first.

_Castiel. Well, look at what the humans dragged in. Had enough of being graceless yet?_

_I thought you were dead, Gabriel. Where am I?_

_It's your dream, Cassie. Looks like ... rat-infested rent-by-the-hour motel? Fond Dean_ _-bonding_ _memories here?_

_What do you want with me? I no longer have any ability to influence events related to Heaven._

_That's where you're wrong, my Fallen friend. You have more influence than you think, despite being a major contributor to this_ _Chernobyl-level_ _fuck-up. You have the ability to unite_ _all those_ _angels priggishly milling about the Earth like toddlers lost at the mall. You can get off your ass and lead. Even as a sad excuse for a human._

_The other angels would rather slay me than look at me._

_True. I didn't say you'd unite them over something *positive*. I'm holding back the horde from your dreams even now. Maybe I should release them and let you know how they really feel about expulsion from the only home they've ever known._

_Wait. Sam's dying._

_Been there, done that. So?_

_So maybe we can come to a deal._

_Look at you, negotiating. Problem is, Sam's deteriorating at the subatomic level. Kinda tricky to fix._

_You are the self-styled Trickster._

_Hmm. I do have my vanity. Let me think about it and I'll get back to you tomorrow night. Meanwhile, sweet dreams._

The archangel released whatever hold he had on the dream then, and the other angels rushed in. Dozens of them, shrieking, excoriating, threatening, enticing, begging, weeping. The dream turned into a nightmare, a hallucination of torture of the many souls he had tossed down into their private Hell, and he didn't know how to wake himself up.

Claire brought him back. She was practically sitting on top of him, rattling his body in a most abrasive manner when he came to.

"Why ... why is your weight on me?"

She slid off next to his bed onto the floor. "You were having a nightmare. The angels were in your dreams."

"How do you know this?"

"You were screaming bloody murder. They come to me, too."

"To ask you to be a vessel?" She didn't seemed shocked by the concept, as if it were an ongoing occurrence, much more than three days. "How long has this been going on?"

"Some of the angels have been jumping ship ever since the war. The ones that don't have their own vessels, they ... go shopping. How many of us seraph-level vessels are there in the world? Seven billion humans, and not enough to go around."

He sat up, shaking his head from the fogginess of sleep. "You are too young to know what that means."

"For fuck's sake Castiel, you possessed me when I was _ten._ Why shouldn't I be able to name what I am? Why shouldn't all of us humans know what we are to all of you monsters? Let Sam and Dean come out of the shadows and take their place as heroes of the world."

"That was a matter of desperation. And you did say yes."

"Well, I'll never make that mistake again. You don't think all these other angels are desperate? That they don't hate what they've had to become? In my dreams tonight, one of them told me that she was sorry, but if she didn't get my body she was going to manifest herself in a crowd and burn out the eyes of all the humans. How's that for a guilt trip?"

He reached out to touch her, to comfort her, but she jerked away. "Claire, thank you for waking me up."

Claire gave his bed a vengeful kick she stood up. "Don't mention it. Really. Next time I'm just going to leave you to scream. Since I'd rather not sleep, I'm going to take another shift with Sam."

"He would appreciate that." She gave him a strange look at this change in attitude, and left the room.

 

******

 

On the afternoon of the fourth day, he found her sitting with a razor-sharp knife in her lap.

"I'm never going to be left in peace again," she stated matter-of-factually. "Maybe I should just be done with it. I want to see Mom and Dad again."

"You must not do this, Claire."

"Why not? I know I'm not really going to die. Not my soul at least. No one ever really dies. How horrible is that?"

"Suicides go to Hell. And you really don't want to end up there. Ask Dean if you don't believe me." She sighed but didn't relinquish the knife.

"I'd tired. So very, very tired. I feel like I'm on the brink of crazy again, just one smoking eye socket angel away from falling into the pit."

"This is not the road to Heaven. And even if it were, your parents would not want to see you do this. Your father gave up his own life and almost his soul in order for you to live a human life. Please, give me the knife."

She picked it up then, and let it drop from her fingers in between them. Castiel carefully moved it away from her reach.

"You know, you probably knew him far better than I ever did. I hate you for that, Castiel."

"I don't think I ever really knew him either. I'm sorry for that. Do you promise to live? I don't have to watch you or send Dean in here?"

"No. I'll behave myself. It was ... just a thought. I don't know what to do. Am I going to be trapped in the Bunker for the rest of my life, skulking from the angels and demons like Kevin?"

"I hope not, child. For both of us."

 

******

 

On the morning of the fifth day, Castiel awoke with proposals for both Dean and Claire. Gabriel had come back to him. Dean agreed of course, holding back his tears for the brother that would be saved yet again.

"I have to leave, Claire. Do you want to come with me?"

"I still hate you, Castiel, and I hate all those angels trying to take away my body and mind. Why should I lift a finger to save them?"

He took her head in his hands then, palms gently resting on her temples, hoping this would work. Castiel opened his mind to angel radio, and transmitted it as hard as he could at her nimble mind. The messages flowed through just as if they were dreaming, the Enochian sirens automatically interpreted as it was for all the seraphim vessels.

_Joshua's in the Antarctic. We must endure hardship to reach him in that desert._

_Balthazar's got quite the party going in Jerusalem. No vessels, though. Too many public explosions. The humans there are now familiar with the angels. We're just another faction in blood._

_One of the ophanim escaped. Its grace was shredded. They say someone put it out of its misery._

_Sao Paulo, how in the Heavens do I get to Sao Paulo without wings? Hitchhike like a_ _n anchorless_ _spirit? This vessel is dying._

 _Where is God, where is_ _g_ _od, where where where_

"They don't belong on Earth. For the sake of all of our souls, we must reopen Heaven. I'm going to find Joshua now. Anna will help us. Come with me. If not for the angels, for all the humans now dying as our sacrificial offerings."

Claire Novak considered it. She thought of her life thus far, as a form of hunted prey, as a victim withdrawn in herself or hiding out for brief respites between dreams. She thought of her past, and her supposed future engraved on a tablet somewhere for Kevin to read. Her fate, she knew, was in her own hands, for nothing was written in stone, and there was no longer any God.

While the man that looked like her father still held her head within his hands, she closed her eyes and thought out to the stars, _Anael, I beseech you, come to us ..._ And for the first time since becoming human, Castiel smiled.


End file.
